Romance in Space Shouldn't Defy Human Psychology.

The Pitfalls of Instant Love and Misrepresented Trauma

Photo by Vincentiu Solomon on Unsplash

I love romance.

I love sci-fi.

And when the two come together, I’m completely on board - provided the story actually makes sense.

Alien romance has exploded as a sub-genre. One only needs to browse the depths of Kindle Unlimited to find it, and I’ve fallen into the space-alien-love world as well: hook, line, and sinker.

I understand exactly why it’s so popular. It’s fun, it’s escapist, and it allows for endless creativity in worldbuilding, species, and cultural clashes in a sci-fi setting versus a classic fantasy setting.

But there’s a trend in many of these books I’ve noticed in my newfound obsession that pulls me straight out of the story: a complete lack of emotional realism.

Recently, I picked up a new alien romance that revolves around a trope I genuinely enjoy the complexity of — Earthling abducted and sold into the black market of space. It’s a premise full of tension, survival, and the potential for slow-burning, hard-earned romance.

Instead, I find myself repeatedly pulled out of the narrative because the protagonist’s emotional response was, frankly, baffling.

Where’s the Emotional Pushback?

Let’s be real — if I woke up on an alien ship, I wouldn’t immediately accept my situation with a calm, almost passive resignation. You wouldn’t either. Yet, that’s exactly what this protagonist does. She wakes up in a cell, accepts her new reality with less than a mental flinch, and submits to an absolutely horrifying situation without any natural psychological reaction.

She doesn’t go through denial. She doesn’t attempt to convince herself she’s dreaming. There’s no questioning what has happened, no real, deep grief for her life back on Earth. And no, Earthlings in this universe are unaware of alien life, so this situation is completely unknown and should be horrifying.

Instead, within 48 hours, she’s agonising over whether her giant, alien cellmate is romantically or sexually interested in her — after they’ve been forced to mate at gunpoint by their captors.

This isn’t just unrealistic; it’s off-putting. I practically threw my Kindle across the room.

The Problem With Instant Lust in Captivity Settings

Let’s talk about instant attraction. In a romance where two humans meet on Earth under regular circumstances? Sure, Insta-lust or even insta-love is 100% applicable, believable, and a whole roller coaster of spicy, romantic fun.

But in a scenario where a human has been abducted from her home planet, thrust into an intergalactic black market, and stripped of her agency? Romance cannot, and should not, take precedence over survival and psychological adaptation.

I get that these books are fantasy, but there has to be a level of grounding. Romantic relationships thrive on believable emotional development, and in high-stakes settings like these, that development should be slow, hesitant, and fraught with the psychological baggage of captivity and new realities — even in cases of fated mates.

When romance is shoehorned without that buildup, it cheapens the experience and makes the protagonist’s reactions feel alien (not in a good way).

Trauma Isn’t a Switch You Flip

Another issue that stuck out to me in my latest alien-romance endeavour, and this is not isolated to this one book, is the love interest’s (usually a male) portrayal of trauma.

He constantly thinks about how he’s “closed off his emotions” and refuses to feel because of his past traumas and experiences. He states it outright, constantly, as if he’s self-diagnosed himself in the most textbook way possible.

Now, do people emotionally shut down due to trauma? Absolutely. But they don’t do it consciously in such a simplistic, self-aware manner. Trauma manifests in habits, in subconscious behaviour, in reactions and avoidance.

Not only is our love interest insta-flipping his trauma responses, but our protagonist is diagnosing him precisely while also lamenting he doesn’t find her attractive enough to fornicate with properly.

And let’s not forget — the protagonist has never met an alien before now. So how is she instantly diagnosing her cellmate with PTSD within 48 hours of knowing him? There’s a difference between a perceptive character and one who magically understands an alien culture’s psychological framework without effort.

Doing It Better: Let the Romance Breathe

Here’s the thing — I am not against romance developing in these high-stakes scenarios. In fact, I crave it. I want to see it. I think it’s compelling when done right, but it needs time.

Now, I’m not getting up here and trying to say that I’m the all-in-one expert. This article is my personal opinion based on what I’ve read, and what I want to read, and how I’m approaching the subjects in my own way to write the story I want to see develop.

In the sci-fi story I’m writing, my protagonist spends a significant amount of time battling with her predicament. She’s lost in her own head, oscillating between trying to rationalise what’s happening and being overwhelmed by the possibility of it all. She grieves for her life on Earth. She feels guilty about what her family must be going through. She worries for her family, who may or may not have been abducted along with her since they were in the same house when she was taken.

And, crucially, I think, she is not looking for love. Because why would she? She’s barely surviving, and coping, and romance — if it’s ever going to happen — needs to be built on trust, understanding, and the kind of connection that takes time to grow.

That, in my opinion, makes the payoff satisfying and believable.

Why Do These Tropes Persist?

Why are so many books in this genre falling into these pitfalls? A few possibilities.

• It’s an attempt to fast-track the romance because readers, and the writers, want the couple together ASAP.

• Misunderstanding of trauma and how it realistically plays out and presents itself.

• Prioritising fantasy over believability - but at the cost of immersion.

I don’t think alien romance needs to be 100% scientifically or psychologically accurate, but I do think it needs to make emotional sense. Writers can (and should) take creative liberties, but when a protagonist doesn’t react as a real person would (and there is a whole range of believable reactions), it makes it nearly impossible to connect with them.

Connection is the heart of romance.

Let’s Talk About It

Romance readers, do you agree? Writers, how do you approach emotional realism in your books? Let’s discuss!